


Fall Apart, Fall Together

by Sagartolen



Category: HetaOni, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Blindness, Brotherhood, Character Death, Conversations, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Moving On
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 15:31:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2552579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sagartolen/pseuds/Sagartolen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two months after they escape the mansion a blind England and a brotherless Romano meet. The road of recovery is long and winding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fall Apart, Fall Together

**Author's Note:**

> So anyway I just finished Hetaoni and got the inspiration to write this. 
> 
> I haven't edited this fully yet so there may be some errors. 
> 
> SPOLIERS!!

“If I stay…they all live?”

“Yes,”

“They all go home?”

“Yes,”

He gazed at the ground, watching the brightly coloured flowers sway in the gentle breeze. The beautiful meadow contrasted so starkly with the helplessness overwhelming him. If he had to stay here for all eternity he would do it. He did not want too. He did not want to be alone again. He wished he could have gone to that party and seen everyone happy and safe again. He wanted to see Germany and Japan again. To at least say goodbye. But… to save his friends he could do it. It did not matter. Not anymore. 

Brown eyes met black, determination alighted and burned in their depths. The breeze ruffled the others long black coat and it stretched towards him like a welcoming hand.

“OK,” 

His voice barely shook. 

. . . . . . . .  
. . . . . . .  
. . . . . .  
. . . . .  
. . . .  
. . .  
. .  
.

 

The sun was shining, golden yellow. The meadow before him glowed a brilliant green, stretching away into vivid blue skies. All around him wild flowers grew in an assortment of bursting colour. Reds, Purples, Yellows, Pinks, it was all there. For a long time he just sat, enjoying the sight. He was content but unsure why. 

'Arthur...'

He glanced around. It was that voice again. The voice that whispered and floated on the wind, calling him toward the horizon. 

'Arthur...'

It murmured and he felt a familiar pull. Slowly, he stood, walking away from the sun towards a ring of tall trees which seemed to have materialized from the mist, which had drifted in on both sides, obscuring his view. 

The tree trunks were close together and their twisting branches bent inwards as if protecting what was beyond. He pushed on. Something was at the center of the circle. Someone was lying there, on a bed of moss, surrounded by flowers. 

However the mist was now thick and he could not see. He pressed onward.

The bright colours from earlier began to fade as the sun set. 

'Arthur…'

…

England awoke to darkness. An unrelenting black void, stretching and encompassing his whole being. He blinked but it made no difference. He let out a tired breath, trying not to let the disappointment overwhelm him. It was always dark these days and there was not much he could do about it. After such a colorful dream it was almost cruel to wake up. And it was always the same dream. The dream with the colours, light and mysterious voice calling in the distance. 

England pulled himself into a seated position, reaching on instinct for the lamp switch. He paused, sighing. Old habits died hard. Never had that saying rung truer than it had in the last two months. 

“Time,” He called into the darkness. 

“The time is 6:12 am,” Responded the robotic voice of his new sound activated alarm clock. He moved his hand carefully over and hit the top button on the clock, which would cancel the alarm set to wake him at 6:30. 

Getting dressed, a task made simpler by his bland wardrobe, and getting cleaned up came easily to him. A testament to the time that had past since he had arrived home and relocated to the smaller cottage on the outskirts of London. It was a cozy place, dating to the late 17th century and a lot easier to navigate considering it was smaller in size had a single story and simple layout. 

He liked to think he had become quite good at circumnavigating the house by now. As long as no one moved anything he could get around fine and go about his morning routine like normal. It had been hard at first, having to rely solely on his memory as his form navigation. Thankfully, as a personification he had an in depth knowledge of creating mental maps along with a keen instinct for knowing exactly where he was in his country at all times, so getting use to the layout was fairly easy. The problem came with remembering where every little thing and object in the house was stored and placed. In the beginning he had been constantly losing things and had needed someone to practically follow him around 24/7. It had been frustrating, increasing his feeling of helplessness and maintaining his bad mood to the detriment of those around him.

No. It had definitely not been easily. Not for him. Not for his brothers and not for the rest of the nations who had survived that confounded mansion. 

It had started with the Austria. Austria loudly calling out Prussia’s name. 

Then the sound of Belarus yelling, “Big Brother!!” at a deafening level. There had been surprised shouting all round, in which England had demanded, rather impatiently, to know what the hell was going on. The last thing he had remembered was sitting, slumped on a bed, trying to stare at his hands. Around him the others had been freaking out about Spain and Romano who were trapped in one of the past loops and then there had been the sound of Japan trying to prevent Germany from completely spazing out. 

It had taken the group all of one second to realise where they were, not in the mansion, but outside. There had been a warm breeze, the sound of leaves rustling and birds signing. What had followed were shouts of excitement, joy and celebration as the nations reunited with those who had been trapped. England had felt the familiar snap of energy as he reconnected with his country and people. After going so long without, it had been a comforting feeling, making him feel slightly less helpless. He was a personification again, meaning the others were also personifications, meaning that they could no longer be killed. 

Of course, the jubilance and relief had been short lived when they all realised that they numbered only nine and not ten. Germany had immediately demanded they return at once. And, after some arguing, Germany, Japan, Romano and Spain had all swiftly headed back to the mansion. 

He had later been informed that the mansion had disappeared, leaving a vacant lot of burnt grass in its place. Along with its disappearance vanished any hope of saving Italy. Despite Germany searching for several weeks nothing was found. Even the town, where Italy had initially heard the rumours, had gone. 

There had been no party. Why would there be? Japan had still invited everyone to his house, saying something about honouring Italy’s wishes. He had not gone, having enough trouble in his own country to feel like dealing with the others. 

For, barely an hour after he had exited the cursed mansion, his country had been hit with the worst earthquake to ever be recorded in Britain. He supposed he should have expected some repercussion. A personification could not just go blind without there being some overarching consequence. So he had spent his first week home sick in bed. 

Then had come the political backlash. Unfortunately, because humans were complete idiots, when his government had discovered his blindness they had completely freaked out. Humans never truly understood how the connection between a personifications and their land worked. So, when they had finally accepted his sudden blindness, they had been quick to blame America and his government for his condition, considering it had been America who suggested they go into the mansion. How they had discovered that fact was anyone’s guess. The Italian government had been quick to jump on the, ‘blame America,’ bandwagon. Not that they could do much in retaliation seeing as Italy had been hit with a sudden economic downturn, which had plunged the entire country into a financial crisis. He supposed, in compassion to that, he had gotten off rather lightly. Natural disasters, while devastating, did not last long and tended to band the country together rather than tear it apart, which was what a financial crises did. 

England pulled on a waistcoat, running a comb through his hair, hopping it had the desired effect. The smell of bacon and egg wafted down the hallway, signalling that either Wales or his housekeeper were preparing breakfast. He hoped it was the latter as there was only so many times he could eat Wales’ odd, leek inspired, dishes before he went insane. And people said he sucked at cooking. He would like to point out that his brothers were ten times worse then he could ever be. 

It turned out to be his housekeeper, one of the only human’s he allowed in his house, cooking the meal. The only other human being his secretary, who now had the job of chaperoning him to and from meetings and reading out any hardcopy documents. He had never before been so thankful for the modern era and its new technology, making his disability not so depilating when it came to working. 

“Good morning England,” Wales said cheerily, entering the kitchen loudly, something he did to alert England to his presence. He wished he would stop as England’s hearing was far greater that a humans. And the fact that he was a country personification meant he could usually sense when the other was coming. This rang true for any citizens or residents of the United Kingdom. Even more so now he was focusing so heavily on it. 

“So what are you going to do today?” Wales asked casually. England tried to focus his line of vision in the direction of the voice. 

“Maccabee is arriving at 7:30 and I am scheduled to sit in on parliament for the first half of the day. I will then come home and listen to reports in my office.” If he had it his way he would spend the whole day in his office. It was easier, to sit at home listening to his computer read out reports, than it was to go to meetings. 

“Oh. All right. I’ll be around if you need anything. I am heading home tonight, I have some government stuff to take care of, but I’ll probably be back in a few days.”

Wales had practically moved in in the months preceding his return. He wanted to tell the other not to worry so much but found himself unable to. He was grateful for the help, especially in the beginning, even though it hurt his pride to admit. 

Unfortunately, there was still an awkwardness surrounding their interactions. It was as if Wales did not quite know what to say in the face of his disability, rendering their usually animated discussions into stony silence. He knew Wales wanted to ask about the events in the mansion. But, honestly, he did not feel up to talking. 

This meant that Wales had been acting rather oddly. And it was not just Wales. Northern Ireland, who had visited several times, had been uncharacteristically nice and helpful. When one considered the fact that Ireland’s every second sentence was usually in disagreement with something he had said previously it became a notable change. He had also received persistent calls from France and Canada, having asked them not to visit for a while, which were always rather halting and awkward. 

Scotland had only come by once, and that had been to iron out a rebuilding plan for the cities hit worst by the Earthquake, quickly leaving after a few hours. The only person he saw less of was America. It was like they were all walking on eggshells. 

He wished he could tell them to stop and knock some sense into them but found the task oddly difficult, resulting in him ignoring most of them. It was all so stupid. And it was his fault as well. What would the others say when they realised that it was his own stupidity, which had landed him in this mess. If only he had not been so rash and rushed off to face the monster alone. He wouldn’t be blind and Italy wouldn’t be gone. That earthquake would not have happened, something that also impacted his brothers, and maybe everything would be better. 

“Are you OK?”

Wales had read somewhere that blind people were more prone to depression, making this a tiresome and repetitive question. 

“I fine,” He said shortly, holding back his irritation. It was not Wales' fault he was a cynical bastard. 

After some more small talk the breakfast ended. 

Half way through his preparation to leave he caught the familiar presence of another personification arriving. Several seconds later a recognisable voice could be heard shouting at the door.

“Hey let me in already!” Came the loud yell, “He’s blind not fucking mute so I can totally talk to him now!”

“Romano please calm down. England is busy today, he doesn’t want to be disturbed,” Wales’ irritated voice drifted towards him when he moved closer. 

“It’s OK Wales,” England said, turning the corner. 

Wales huffed at his entrance, radiating irritation. 

“I thought you said you had stuff to do today,” Wales sounded uncharacteristically annoyed. England paused, glancing in the direction that Romano probably was. He imagined that the other was most likely scowling at him. 

“Would you cancel the rest of my appointments? I think I will take today off. Just tell them I am feeling under the weather, they will understand.”

“Well, if say so,” Wales eventually sniffed, walking back down the hall. 

“Ha. Skiving work. How the stingy have fallen,” Romano said loudly, strolling inside once Wales had gone. 

“A pleasure to see you too Romano,”

“What’s up with your clone. He always so rude,” 

Well, he now know why Wales had been irritated, the man hated having his resemblance to England pointed out. 

“You did not call him that did you,” He sighed, wondering how anyone put up with Romano’s brash personality. Why was the other here anyway? And why had he canceled his day’s plans?

“Why? Totally looks like one,”

England decided to ignore the statement, instead asking politely, “Would you like some tea.”

Romano did not answer and England took that as a sign that the other had shrugged or nodded or grimaced or made some other non-verbal gesture. Not bothering to wait he headed into the house.

“What! That disgusting stuff! Don’t you have any coffee here?” Romano ended up shouting after him.

“No,” He said, annoyed. 

Thus, he found himself in the odd position in which he was making tea for Romano. The latter who was swinging back and forth on a chair after having spent some time looking through his cupboards in search of the non existent coffee. 

“Don’t forget to put that stuff back where you found it.” He ordered, following the other country’s movements. He supposed the days in which Romano had been terrified of his mere presence were over. The smaller nation seemed more than comfortable now. 

“You’re pretty good at making that stuff for a blind man,” Romano commented randomly, coming up next too him. Though the comment was rather rude it was somewhat nice to not have someone skirting around the subject of his blindness. 

“Experience,” He answered, pushing Romano away when he invaded his personal space. 

“Here,” Romano slammed down a tray, “I’ll carry that. Don’t want you tripping and spilling my tea or nothing.” Under England's instruction Romano preceded to pact the tray. It was such a warm day it would be nice to go outside. 

There was some bumps and loud swearing as Romano knocked into various pieces of furniture while navigating the hall towards the landing. England mentally rolled his eyes. And he was supposed to be the blind one. 

“So,” He paused, “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” 

The two of them were now seated outside on the porch and he could not help but be curious to the reason for Romano’s appearance. 

“I saw the pervert and he told me not to come here. I told him to fuck himself and came anyway.”

“And that’s it,” He said skeptically, ignoring the crass language. 

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

Silence past between them. Which was odd, considering Romano was always one to chatter or at least spew a bunch of insults. 

“Have you seen America at all?” The question was out before he could help himself. 

Romano seemed surprised. But it was hard to tell. He hated not being able to see expressions.

“Yeah I saw him,” Romano started, “He was at Japan’s stupid get-together. He looks terrible like someone killed his dog or something.”

“Well the idiot would blame himself.” It would be just like America to blame himself for not, ‘being the hero,’ and saving everyone. 

“You need to fucking do something about that,” Romano continued on, “I got enough financial problems without burger man falling in to a depression and stuffing everything up more.” 

“How is that my problem?” 

England could not help but feel a twinge of anger at the comment. America was a grown man he could handle himself. 

“Because you’re also an Idiot.” Romano said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

There was a silence in which Romano grunted to himself, “This stuff is disgusting. Tastes like bull piss.” 

“Everything is different now!” England finally snapped, irritated at Romano’s dismissal. 

“I cannot just go barging over there any time I feel like it. And besides why would he even want my help. He’s the one avoiding me.” 

“I don’t know what you expect me to do.” 

And then the dam broke and all the anger and frustration that had been building over the past weeks came rushing out. 

“Wales and Ireland tip-toe around me like I’m going to snap at any second. Scotland won’t even look at me. I can practically feel the pity radiating from everyone. How am I supposed to help America like this?”

He slammed his cup down violently into its saucer. 

“I was supposed to be the composed one and use my magic to help everyone escape. Not run into danger and drag everyone with me!! All because of a stupid argument. Honestly, what sort of example am I setting to Canada and the others?”

“Idiot!” Romano interrupted. England clenched his fist, wishing he could glare at the other. 

“What the fuck are you all miserable about? You still have your dam country! You still got annoying brothers to bug the shit out of you. People who want to help.” 

England almost drew back at the Romano’s hash tone. 

“Sure it an’t perfect but’s its better than nothing.” 

“But it is my fault!” He finally shouted. The cup he was holding clattered to the ground. 

“Like fuck it is!!” 

“I was the one who rushed off. Your bother is dead and it is my fault!” 

There was a rush of movement the feeling of a fist slamming into his face. He reeled back stunned. 

“Idiot,” Romano snapped. 

“I thought you were supposed to be one of the rational ones. But you’re just as stupid as the others. You’re as bad as the potato bastard. How many time do I got to say that god dammed mansion was nobodies fault!” 

England, panting, tried to real in his anger and frustration. He felt like punching or beating something up. He hated being in a position of weakness. All his life he had struggled to be the strongest, the one on top, both against his brothers and against the world. When it had dawned on him that he might be blind for the rest of his life it had been a hard blow. He had been devastated, having been sure that, once he connected to his land again, his quick regeneration would heal his eyesight. Now he felt like all the work and suffering he had gone through over the years had been erased. How would he fight like this? How could he be an effective personification when he struggled with the simplest tasks? How was he supposed to match the efficacy and surety of his pre-blind self? 

However…. Romano was right. He had been acting pathetic, avoiding everyone and ignoring Wales attempts to help. Though he felt somewhat responsible for events, making him feel stupid and moronic, he was getting nowhere by shutting himself off from the rest of the world. He could not afford to wallow in self-pity. Nothing would change if he did nothing and hid in his office all the time. 

England took a deep breath. He bent down and picked up his cup, which thankfully was not broken. He rather liked this set of china. 

He made to poor himself another cup. 

“You think you have it bad,” Romano, still sounding angry, continued in a quieter voice. 

“I don’t even know how to handle a whole country by myself.”

“It’s pathetic,” He spat. 

England blinked at the sudden admission, still reeling from the punch and coming to terms with his own shortcomings. Of course Romano was also having difficulties. He felt stupid for not considering the others feelings before going on his own rant. There were still turbulent fluctuation coming from Romano, signalling that knocking some sense into England had not been the only reason he had visited him. And he always called America oblivious. Sometimes he was just as bad. 

“Of course it is hard at first?” He managed to force out, almost slapping himself for his insensitivity. Whatever, he had never been one for mollycoddling. That was France’s job. 

“There rest of us did not just spring out of the ground fully formed. This sort of thing takes time and experience,” He continued.

“You will get it eventually. I am sure,” He finished as reassuringly as possible, recalling all those times he had had similar discussions with his former colonies. 

There were several beats of silence. 

“Veneziano was always the one to handle all the diplomatic stuff. He was better at that sort of thing,” Romano grumbled. 

“I mean, he sucked balls, but at least people left his meetings not wanting to wipe our country off the map.”

“You do have a way with words.” England smiled. 

“Shut up,”

“And then there’s all this conservation shit he was working on. I mean he loves…loved all those old ruins. Not to mention he almost single handedly ran the whole tourism industry. Do you know how much money we have sunk into that fucking thing! …! Fucking foreigners man, I’ll never understand them, traveling hundreds of kilometers just to see some old buildings. It’s like they don’t have old, broken stuff in their own countries.”

Romano let out a long breath, “I fucking miss him. It’s like I’ve lost half my body and shit.”

England sighed, what was he supposed to say to that. He could say something condescending like, ‘time heals all wounds,’ or, ‘you will get better,’ but he had a feeling that Romano had probably been hearing this a lot. 

“You probably will not ever be completely use to it,” He paused, thinking back to his time as an empire and how he still felt residue pains from all the wars and land loss. Romano knew that these things did not go away. He was old enough. They both came from an era of change, in which countries and Empires rose and fell in the blink of an eye. Something which many of the older nations had almost forgotten in the security of the 20th century. 

“It fucking sucks,” Romano sounded completely miserable. England blinked into the darkness around him, wishing he could see Romano’s expression. It did indeed, ‘fucking suck.’

“But you will find a way to work with the change,” England comforted, putting as much optimism into the phase as possible. Silently, he vowed to also find away to work with his blindness. If Romano could remain strong after loosing his twin then England could conquer his disability. 

“If you want. I can see what can be done about your conservation problems. I have a rather competent archeology and preservation department.” It was all he could really offer the other at the moment. It probably would not take too much effort to convince his government to send extra resources to help in the conservation and preservation of the many ancient sites and ruins in Italy. 

And besides, he was one of those foreigners who traveled miles to see ancient ruins. Though he would no longer be able to physically view them it would be nice to stand amongst them again and feel their old magic. 

“Do what you want,” Romano mumbled, which was as good a yes as any. 

More silence and England tried to focus on the garden he knew was before them. The sun was practically strong today, warming his face and body. 

“Can you describe the yard for me,” He asked flippantly. There was the sound of chocking as Romano presumably swallowed his tea wrong. He guessed it had been a rather unexpected request but he needed something to lighten the mood.

“What the hell for! You’ve been blind for a few months not your whole fucking life!” Romano exclaimed after he finished coughing. 

“Just do it,” England retorted good-naturedly. 

“OK sheesh. You’re gone from a crabby ass old man to a crabby blind old man. Not much of a change if you ask me,”

Romano paused, “Lets see. There is this ugly ass tree with no fucking leaves, growing in the center of the yard. The hedge is shit green and there are these fugly birds everywhere.”

“Robins,” England corrected. 

“What,”

“The birds…they are Robins,” He explained. 

“Right. How can you tell?”

“I recognise their calls,”

“Whatever,” Romano said, sounding less than impressed before continuing on with his description, “The fence is totally a clique wooden one, with pickets and everything and, like, the man walking past totally glared at you.”

“What. Why?” England startled. Why on earth would anyone glare at him. 

“I dunto…could have been just a normal look. I suck at reading expressions. I still think you should kick his ass though.”

Apparently, that was the end of the colourful description of his yard. England stretched a little. 

“I should probably contact America and sort out this problem our governments are having. ” He began, almost talking to himself. He had been putting it off for a while, unwilling to wade into the growing diplomatic mess. 

“Probably,” Romano sniffed. 

“You should too.”

Romano grumbled. 

“I don’t even like the burger head.”

“One less enemy would be better for your country,” He pointed out reasonably.

Romano’s only repose was to snort under his breath, “Our governments are run by idiots.”

England could not help but agree. The two of them lapsed into more silence. 

Then, completely out of the blue Romano remarked, “There is this old man,” causing England to frown.

“Pardon.” 

“He’s like 100 or something, with a kid. The kid has ice-cream. They are smiling… Like world is perfect and nothing bad can reach them. Like the fucking sun came out just to give then the chance to enjoy a bloody piece of melting candy.”

England smiled at the description.

”Thank you,” He eventually answered. The hardest part about being blind was not attempting to navigate or to read or trying to find things but his inability to see his people. Sure he could sense them. But it was not quite the same as watching the joy, sadness, love and happiness in a person’s expression.

“Don’t get fucking use to it. I an’t gonna’ follow you around and describe every random shit ass thing.”

The rest of the morning past rather peacefully, save for Romano attempting to start a fight with two men, whom he swore had flipped him off. Of course, the moment actual violence was threatened saw the other hiding behind England, leaving him to defuse the situation. Even when the two men were no match for a personification. He had stopped questioning these things centuries ago. 

Eventually, Romano declared himself bored, getting up, insulting his choice of tea one last time, and preparing to leave. England, like a proper host, saw his guest to the door. 

“Ciao... Arthur,” Romano yelled, heading down the path. 

“Goodbye Lovino,” He answered, listening to the others footsteps crunch away.

He moved back inside to shut the door. 

“That was weird,” Wales commented from behind and England felt him shift from leaning on the wall in one of the doorways to standing. 

“How so?” England questioned, clicking the door shut, moving towards Wales with practiced ease. 

Wales moved out of his way. 

“I thought both Italy brothers were terrified of you,” 

“I guess he got over it.” England shrugged, “About bloody time too it has been almost a century since I last invaded,” He continued. Their fear had always irritated him. He was not that scary dammit. 

“Why did he call you Arthur?” Wales asked, sounding curious. 

England paused, feeling that familiar stress and apprehension, which he usually associated with thinking of the mansion. Perhaps he should just call it a day and tell Wales another time. He had done enough confiding for one day. 

No. That was him avoiding the issue like he had been doing for the past weeks. He wanted Wales, his friend, back not the cautious stranger. To do this he would have to explain some things. The other deserved that much at least. It was time to pull himself together and, as much as he did not want to admit it, he would need to confront his problems. 

“What are you doing for the rest of the day?”

“Not much. Why?”

“Let us go out and get lunch. This is going to take some explaining.” 

Though he could not see the others expression he could still feel the subtle change in his energy, suggesting the he might be smiling.


End file.
